Blood of the Covenant
by Tolehrer
Summary: A gift for the wonderful Serlen; Haldir tries to teach his youngest brother how to read.


**This is Serlen's gift for spotting my lobelia clue in chapter 28 of 'Black Mambo'. Enjoy!**

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the talan window, illuminating a large book balanced upon a desk before a small child. The child's finger traced the words, following the long lines and curves, his lips moving soundlessly as he shaped each word. A frown marred his small face and his dull eyes displayed the boredom he felt. He came to the end of a line and his finger paused . . . stopped. His eyes lifted from the page and flitted about the room, resting on the window. He stared out over the forest, kicking his legs aimlessly against his chair. The book lay forgotten in front of him.

"Rúmil!"

He flinched at the sound of his name and looked up guiltily. "I was reading," he said quickly, taking the book in hand.

Haldir looked down at him, unimpressed. "And what did you read in the trees, little brother?"

"I was just—"

"I have told you again and again," Haldir said firmly. "You will not learn to read if you let your mind wander every few minutes. You are nearly sixteen now, Rúmil, you must start focusing."

Rúmil pushed his lip out sulkily. "I was _doing_ it," he huffed.

Regarding him with one eyebrow raised, Haldir tapped the book in front of him. "To the end of this chapter, Rúmil," he said. "Then you may go out."

Rúmil slumped forwards. The book was _boring._ He was not very good and his letters; all of them seemed to look the same and the minute his attention drifted, so did the words, swimming out of focus and making his head spin. He knew that he could read if he tried—he had done it before, quite easily—but it was so hard to practice when Haldir's books were so dull. This one was about guard rotations. The only spark of interest he had found in the whole book was a single mention of his brother Orophin's name.

He wanted to read the book, he really did—he wanted to bring a smile of pride to Haldir's eyes. Haldir, who was as tall as a mallorn tree and twice as strong, who fought with the wardens and killed orcs. There were even rumours that Haldir would lead the wardens soon. Rúmil wanted to grow up and fight with his brothers. He wanted Haldir to look at him the way he looked at Orophin—like he was another man. Not like he was an elfling who couldn't read very well. Rúmil glared at the book. He _hated_ this book.

"Rúmil, your _reading,"_ Haldir intoned from his own desk, where he was penning yet _more_ reports. They would probably end up bound into a book like the one he was meant to be reading.

A surge of anger rushed through the elfling and he stood suddenly. He'd jumped down from the chair so quickly that the seat toppled over behind him and clattered to the floor. "Stop telling me what to do!" Rúmil cried. "You don't tell Orophin what to do!"

"Orophin is past one hundred, an ellon grown; and I _do_ tell him what to do sometimes." Haldir said. His voice was calm, which only enraged Rúmil further.

"It's not _fair,"_ he yelled. "I _hate_ this book."

Haldir's eyes narrowed. "I have not asked you to like it," he said steadily. "I have told you to read it."

"Well, I _won't."_ So saying, Rúmil grabbed the book and threw it to the floor, stamping upon the open page for good measure. "I won't, I won't, I _won't!"_

Haldir stood and rounded his desk, annoyance flickering over his features. Rúmil darted past him and pushed his desk as hard as he could. An ink bottle wobbled and tipped over, spilling ink all over the papers Haldir had been working on. A few of them fell to the floor, followed by the ink bottle, which shattered.

Too angry to feel anything else, Rúmil sprinted to the door and pulled it open. "I won't ever learn to read," he called back. "I hate it!"

He slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake it in its frame and ran away, up through the levels of the city until he finally came to a stop, sides heaving, in the middle of a walkway.

In his mind, he replayed the moment the inkwell had shattered upon the talan floor and he swallowed nervously, dread filling him up. He remembered Haldir telling them that the inkwell had belonged to their Naneth. Haldir would surely hate him for destroying her possessions. Rúmil did not remember his Naneth and Adar; they had left for Valinor when he was but a babe. He had a vague sense of some kind of link, a hazy bond between his fëa and theirs, but nothing more. Haldir, though—Haldir was more than two _thousand_ years older than Rúmil. He had known their parents well, still missed them.

 _Haldir is going to hate me,_ Rúmil thought glumly. He drew his knees up to his chin and hugged his legs tightly. His brothers were always telling him not to lose his temper.

Footsteps shuddered through the wood he was sat upon and he burrowed his head in his hands, hoping that whatever elf had found him would simply leave him alone.

"What is this? A little elfling, out on his own?"

Rúmil wrinkled his nose, recognising Orophin's voice. He _hated_ it when his brothers called him little. "I'm not little," he said half-heartedly.

Orophin came to a stop beside him and then Rúmil felt himself be grasped. Orophin swung him up and held him high in the air, spinning him around in the way that normally made him giggle and kick his legs. He stayed stubbornly limp, even when Orophin pretended to drop him, a move which normally made him shriek with laughter.

"Not little, perhaps," Orophin said softly, setting him back down. "But you are sad. What is wrong?"

Rúmil glared at the walkway beneath their feet, fighting against the burning in his eyes. "Haldir hates me," he muttered.

Orophin sat beside him, letting his long legs dangle off the edge of the talan. "I am absolutely certain that he doesn't."

"He _does,"_ Rúmil said sorrowfully. "I broke his inkwell. The one that Nana gave him."

"Oh, Rúmil, we all have accidents. Haldir would not be angry with you for that." Orophin said soothingly, pulling him into a hug.

Rúmil wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's shoulder. Orophin's hair, the same shade of silver-blonde as his own, tickled his cheek. "It wasn't an accident," he admitted. "I didn't want to do my reading so I . . . I threw the book on the floor and pushed the things off Haldir's desk."

Orophin sighed, but his arms tightened. "What have we said—"

"My temper," he said, a touch sulkily. "I know. And now Haldir will hate me, and I don't know where I will live now, and—"

"Slow down, little brother! Haldir might be angry but he could never hate you, just like you could never hate him, or either of you could hate me. We are brothers, Rúmil, and brothers do not hate—we help each other. He will certainly not throw you from the talan."

There was a long pause in which Rúmil sniffled into Orophin's hair. "How do you know?" he asked finally.

Orophin laughed lightly. "When I was an elfling, only a little older than you, I broke Haldir's bow. I had not meant it to break, but . . . anyway, he forgave me, evidently."

"Do you . . . do you really think it will be okay?"

"There is _nothing_ that you could do that would make him hate you. Now, the day is getting late and it is time that I got you home, brother. Shall we go?" Orophin suggested.

Rúmil clung on to him. Easing himself from the elfling's grasp, Orophin lifted him and set him upon his shoulders, grasping at his ankles to hold him steady. Delighted, Rúmil's hands fisted in his hair. "Orophin, if Haldir hates me, can I come and live with you in your talan?" he asked enthusiastically.

Orophin chuckled, patting the child's knee. "I think I'll find room."

o0o

Haldir flinched at the sound of the door slamming.

He thought about running after his brother but dismissed the idea quickly; Rúmil would only grow angrier. He surveyed the carnage sadly; the report he had been working on was all but ruined, and as for the book Rúmil had been reading—the page was wrinkled and had torn almost entirely from its binding. Haldir sighed, sinking to his knees.

"Valar," he whispered, catching his shin upon a shard of glass from the shattered ink bottle. Where the ruined reports and book garnered a feeling of frustration, looking at the shattered inkwell brought him genuine grief. The glass well had been a gift from his grandfather to his mother; he had entertained a fanciful hope of one day passing it to his own child, if ever he had one.

Meticulously, he picked up each sliver of glass and placed them into a small ceramic jar; he could not quite bring himself to throw them away. He wanted to be angry with Rúmil, but truly he felt that the incident was his own fault.

What elfling wanted to read reports that even he found dry? When he had been an elfling his Nana and Ada had set him down with books of poetry and stories, their own books that they read for pleasure. Every time he had sat down to read one of them would have sat with him, helping him to trace the words.

Those books were gone, had been packed up and taken with his parents back to Valinor. He had nothing else of offer Rúmil; his own time was almost entirely occupied with his duties as a warden. He had had even less time than was usually lately as he prepared to take on the post of Marchwarden. Rúmil had become a tag-on to his life, when he should have been its focus.

 _I am his father in all but name,_ Haldir thought morosely. _He deserves more than this._

He clenched his hand around the last few slivers of glass and felt them bite into his skin. "He comes first, from now on," he whispered. "Rúmil—and Orophin—they come before anything else."

o0o

Orophin knocked on Haldir's door before he opened it, a perfunctory courtesy. He swung Rúmil down from his shoulders and set him down in the entryway, giving him an encouraging nod.

Rúmil padded slowly into the talan's small kitchen. Haldir looked up silently, setting down the cup of wine he had been sipping. He did not say a word, merely regarded Rúmil with eyes that were closer to silver than either Rúmil or Orophin's.

Eventually, Rúmil looked down. "I'm sorry," he murmured to his toes.

"Excuse me?" Haldir said softly.

Rúmil swallowed. "I'm sorry that I smashed the inkwell," he repeated, his voice a little louder. Haldir's eyebrows rose. "And—and threw the book on the floor," he added quickly. "And stamped on it."

Behind him, Orophin coughed.

Haldir rose smoothly. He was so tall that Rúmil had to tip his chin backwards to meet his eyes. _He_ wanted to be that tall. "Very well," Haldir said. "I accept your apologies."

"Haldir, I—"

"Go to bed, please, Rúmil." Haldir cut him off. His voice was entirely neutral but nonetheless Rúmil's heart sank.

He nodded listlessly and hurried out of the room, climbing up into the small loft space Haldir had built to give him a semblance of his own room. He tucked his pillow under his chin and frowned, trying to think of anything he could have done to make Haldir _really_ forgive him. He did not sleep for a long time.

o0o

Three days later, Rúmil was lying on his stomach, painstakingly drawing a warden slaying a horde of orc, when Haldir sat beside him, folding his legs beneath him.

"That is very good," Haldir remarked, gesturing to Rúmil's drawing.

Rúmil looked up suspiciously. Haldir had been perfectly kind to him since he had apologised but there had been a queer distance between them over the past few days. "It's a warden," he replied. "He's killing orcs."

Haldir squinted at the paper. "Oh, yes," he said. "I see."

Rúmil thought that he did not sound very like he _saw._ The drawing was not exactly his _best._ "You can have it," he offered nonetheless.

Haldir accepted the pencil sketch with a smile. He folded it and slipped it into his tunic. "Thank you very much," he said. "I have a gift for you as well, brother."

Rúmil perked up immediately. "What is it?"

Haldir chuckled and withdrew a parcel wrapped in brown paper from behind his back. "Here you are," he smiled.

Rúmil took the gift easily, tearing open the wrapping. Inside was—a book. Puzzled, he opened the plain cover and saw, upon the first page: _For Rúmil, from Haldir._

His mouth fell open. He went to the next page. There, he saw a picture of an ellon. He had silver hair and green eyes, just like Rúmil himself did. Above the picture, he traced the words _In the realm of Lothlórien there lived a brave ellon._

"It's a _story,"_ he breathed, almost ripping the next page in his haste to read it. _He lived with his two brothers, who were older than he but not as tall or strong._

Happiness swelling Rúmil until he was sure he might burst. He set the book down carefully and tackled Haldir, squeezing him as hard as he possibly could. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he cried.

Haldir laughed and ruffled his hair. "I am glad that you like it, little brother. Do you think you might learn your letters better from this?"

"Oh, I will read it every single day, over and over!" Rúmil enthused. Haldir's words fully registered and he frowned. "Hey, I'm not _little."_


End file.
